"Santa Fe Edge" - читать интересную книгу автора (Woods Stuart)

5

Ed Eagle stopped by the D.A.’s office and asked to see him.

Roberto Martínez rose as Eagle entered, then shook his hand, waving him to a chair. “I’ve been expecting you, Ed.”

“Well, I’m glad I didn’t disappoint you, Bob,” Eagle replied with an easy smile.

“You ready for arraignment?”

“Oh, I don’t think we need to go that far, Bob.”

“ ‘That far’?”

“I think we should just settle this here, and get it over with.”

“Ed, are you already looking to plea-bargain? That makes me feel even better about our case.”

“Bob, I expect you haven’t had time to go over the case file,” Eagle said, starting to get up.

“Wait a minute,” Martínez said, waving him back to his chair. “I’ve had a look at the summary. It’s a good case.”

“Bob, Tip Hanks can account for every minute of his time between the hours of four A.M. and when he called nine-one-one. He was in Dallas, he couldn’t sleep, so he decided to get up and return home early. His wife wasn’t expecting him until noon.”

“So, he killed her earlier than planned,” Martínez said, leaning his chair way back and putting his feet on the desk.

“No, Bob, whoever she was in bed with shot her, and before Tip’s car pulled up to the house, because Tip never heard the shot. The killer heard Tip’s car door slam and beat it out of the bedroom door opening to the terrace, then ran down the hill to the dirt road where he’d parked his car. Tip heard him leave, and when he looked out the back door he saw dust, but the car was already around the bend and out of sight. If you can get the investigating officers to put down their comic books long enough, they might be able to get some footprints and tire tracks before it rains or the wind blows them away.”

“You want me to dismiss the charges on nothing more than that story?”

“Both sides of the bed had been slept in, but she was on the left side of the bed, where Tip slept. Somebody had moved her there while he was screwing her. I expect her ex-husband will testify to that sleeping habit of hers.”

“What else?”

“We don’t need anything else. You’re postulating that Tip walked into his house, went to the bedroom, took his gun out of the bedside table and shot his wife in the head, then called nine-one-one. That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It didn’t have to happen that way,” Martínez said.

“The staff at the FBO at the airport will testify to Tip’s arrival time. They log in every aircraft that lands, and his was probably the first of the day. Drive the route from the FBO to his house and walk in. You’ll see there was no time for him to make love to her and have an argument before killing her. I think it likely that the medical examiner is going to discover somebody else’s DNA inside her.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Even if the killer used a condom and left no trace, the M.E. will say that she had sex with somebody, and Tip’s DNA won’t be inside her.”

“Maybe he used a condom.”

“He knew she was on the pill. There was no need for him to do that.” Eagle was making this up, but he could see Martínez begin to show signs of folding.

Martínez put his feet back on the floor and leaned over his desk. “What evidence do you have that she was having an affair?”

“She has a history, Bob. Tip was screwing her while she was still married to her last husband. I expect that if I send an investigator to Dallas to talk to other members of the tour and their wives and girlfriends, we’ll find that she had a reputation among the camp followers. This is an old story, Bob, and it will embarrass everybody concerned when the news desks pick it up from the sports pages. You really want to stir that up?”

“Maybe they’ve been fighting. Maybe we’ll turn that up among their friends.”

“So what? Every couple fights, but they rarely murder each other. Now, do you really want to arraign him? If you do, then I’ll get him released on his own recognizance and he’ll go back to playing golf for a living, and the whole thing will drag on for weeks before I get a dismissal. Do the right thing, here, Bob.”

Martínez opened a file on his desk and made a show of reading it, while Eagle sat mute, occasionally crossing and recrossing his legs just to let him know he was still there.

“All right, I’ll drop the charges for now,” Martínez said, “but if we turn up anything else-anything at all-I’ll have him rearrested.”

“That’s fair, Bob. Now, will you please fax over a release order to the jail, so I can drive the boy home? He’s got some grieving to do.”

Martínez buzzed his secretary. “Type up a release order for one Terrence Hanks,” he said. “I’ll sign it, and you can fax it to the jail.”

Eagle stood up and offered his hand. “Thank you, Bob,” he said. “You won’t regret doing that.”

Eagle left the office, got into his car and drove back to the jail, phoning ahead to let them know he was coming and to have his client processed out. He had only a few minutes to wait before Tip Hanks appeared, taking his belongings out of an envelope and stuffing them into his pockets.

“Is it time for the arraignment?” he asked as he shook Eagle’s hand.

“You’re not going to be arraigned,” Eagle said. “I persuaded the D.A. to drop the charges.”

Hanks looked at him incredulously. “How did you do that?”

“He hadn’t even read the case file thoroughly,” Eagle replied, leading him out the front door. “Once he did, he reconsidered, after I had pointed out how weak his case was.”

They got into the car, and Eagle turned toward Las Campanas. “By the way,” he said, “I told him that your wife was on the pill; I hope that’s true.”

“It is,” Hanks replied.

“Here’s my theory of the case: Your wife was having an affair, and she didn’t expect you home before noon today. Her lover had already shot her, for reasons of his own, when you pulled up, and he ran. Maybe they’ll find DNA, maybe not. He could have used a condom. But they won’t find your DNA in her, right?”

“Right,” Hanks said.

“You’re wondering who she was having the affair with?”

“Yes.”

“Any ideas?”

“Could have been anybody,” Hanks replied. “She liked sex more than any woman I ever met, and she wanted it regularly. Normally, she’d have been in Dallas with me, but she’s missed a couple of tournaments lately, saying she wasn’t feeling well enough to go. She was a terrible hypochondriac.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” Eagle said.

“What are the chances that they’ll catch the guy?” Hanks asked.

“Fifty-fifty, I’d say. A lot better if there’s DNA.”

Hanks put his head back against the headrest and sighed. “She didn’t deserve this,” he said.

“Are you scheduled to play next weekend?”

“No, I passed on the next one. The week after, though.”

“That’s time enough to get your head together,” Eagle said. “Go out and practice as you usually do; look sad, don’t laugh at anybody’s jokes; keep any conversations about her to an absolute minimum. People are going to be watching your reactions. Same thing when you rejoin the tour.” He followed directions to Hanks’s front door, and the young man got out.

“I’ll send you a check. What do I owe you?” he asked.

“I get ten grand for getting out of bed,” Eagle said. “I’ll send you a bill.”

“Fair enough.”

“If the evidence doesn’t go your way and Martínez has you rearrested, I’ll apply it to my retainer.” Eagle reached into his glove compartment and found a card. “This is the number of a service that cleans up crime scenes,” he said. “Don’t call them until the police let you know they’ve released the scene. Take care.”

Eagle drove away, thinking he’d done a good day’s work.